


A Model Mountie

by mosquiti



Category: due South
Genre: Comedy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23623309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosquiti/pseuds/mosquiti
Summary: Fraser has volunteered himself for an RCMP charity project only to find that the task expected of him is way out of his comfort zone.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	A Model Mountie

“You asked to see me Inspector?” Fraser enquired entering his superior’s office after finishing his morning sentry duty.  
“Hmm…” Thatcher frowned with dissatisfaction as she shuffled some papers. Her dark shoulder-length hair fell around her face softening an otherwise stern appearance.  
Standing at parade rest before the large desk, Fraser cleared his throat. “If it’s about my expenses inventory last week Sir,” he offered, “then I can explain the extra dry-cleaning costs as well as the veterinary and pathology tests. You see there was a racoon, and… well, it should all become clear upon reading my one-oh-nine-eight-nine B report.”  
“Ah, here it is!” Thatcher exclaimed with satisfaction extracting some paperwork from the bottom of her in-tray. She removed her glasses and looked up at Fraser. “I’m sorry Constable, did you mention extra costs?”  
Fraser blushed. “Yes Sir. I erm… as I said, it should all become clear upon reading—”  
“Your one-oh-nine-eight-nine B report, yes. I look forward to it,” she said with a grimace. “But that’s not what I wanted to see you about.”  
“It isn’t?”  
“No. I just need you sign this agreement for our marketing division regarding their promotional charity project.”  
“Ah.” Fraser smiled sheepishly and took the pen Thatcher offered him. But after reading the agreement he hesitated and asked, “Inspector, what is the exact nature of the promotional charity project?”  
“It’s a calendar,” she responded absently without looking up from the reports she had begun working on. “I believe the running title is ‘Real Mounties Revealed’. It’s all part of the marketing division’s strategy to rebrand the RCMP with a sexier image.”  
“Sexier image?” Fraser repeated checking that he’d heard her correctly. “And you agree with this strategy Sir?”  
Thatcher looked up. “If it results in increased recruitment, yes of course,” she replied pragmatically. “Is there a problem Constable?”  
“Well no, not exactly,” Fraser stammered. “It’s just that, well, I’m not entirely comfortable with the idea of exposing…”  
Thatcher sighed with frustration. “Fraser, the reputation of the RCMP is on the line here as much as your own. I can assure you that the images will be…tasteful.”  
“Tasteful?” gulped Fraser. The word provided him little reassurance.  
“And it’s for charity,” Thatcher reminded him sternly.  
Finding himself incapable of countering her arguments Fraser nodded obediently and signed the agreement.  
“Thank you, Constable,” Thatcher responded brusquely, retrieving the paperwork. “Now if you’d kindly report to the project’s creative director in the consultation room.”  
As Fraser made his way along the hall he was joined by Diefenbaker. The wolf bounced along beside him excited by the air of expectation.  
“Oh, and I suppose you’d just love to be made a spectacle merely for the amusement of others?” Fraser grumbled.  
Dief yipped his agreement.  
As they approached the consultation room, Constable Turnbull emerged.  
“Oh, isn’t this wonderful Constable Fraser!” he exclaimed jubilantly. “To be part of such a joyous and creative project? Which month have you been assigned? I’m December,” he stated proudly. “It’s perfect! It’s always been my favourite month and I’m to be a kind of Mountie Santa Clause. Isn’t that brilliant? I’d better go and practice my ho, ho ho.” And with that he veritably skipped down the hall humming a Christmas tune.  
Fraser took a deep breath before entering the consultation room.  
A stylishly dressed woman greeted him with a broad, brightly painted smile. “You must be Constable Fraser. I’m Shayne Appleby the creative director.” She stood and shook his hand warmly. “I must say, it’s a real pleasure to have such beautiful subject matter to work with! Please, take a seat. Now I just want to ask you few questions to really get to know the man behind the Mountie. You see, each photograph will include a short description to give a little of a backstory to each of our models.”  
As she spoke, Fraser felt his muscles tighten with increased apprehension about the whole situation. But he could see no way out of it so he answered the woman’s questions as best he could and hoped the interview would come to an end shortly. Diefenbaker who had been ordered to stay in the hallway began to lose patience and scratch at the door.  
“Excuse me,” Fraser interrupted politely, “I can’t let my wolf damage RCMP property.” He rose and opened the door to scold Diefenbaker, secretly thankful for the distraction. But the introduction of his half-wolf companion only increased Ms Appleby’s interest and led to more questions. Diefenbaker was quite taken with her and revelled in the attention. Fraser was appalled by his behaviour but at the same time glad that some of the limelight had been redirected.  
Moments later, Thatcher ushered in the photographer and his assistant with all their equipment. Ms Appleby made the introductions and informed the relieved Fraser that his interview was over.  
“I’ve decided to assign you the month of June,” she revealed with a smile.  
“I’m sorry?” Fraser questioned. “I thought we’d established that I prefer the winter months?”  
“Oh yes!” she agreed. “But I thought we’d go with the whole ‘fish out of water’ angle, you know? The juxtaposition of a Mountie in Chicago. I think it’ll work a treat!”  
“It’s perfect,” Thatcher agreed, keen to finalise the discussion and get back to her work.  
“Well, I’ll see you later for your shoot Constable Fraser,” Ms Appleby beamed, “and be sure to bring along this gorgeous creature too!” she added in exaggerated baby talk ruffling Dief’s fur.  
Fraser resisted the urge to roll his eyes and made his escape.

As he entered the busy and familiar Chicago Police Department’s 27th precinct office, Fraser began to relax and made his way to Detective Vecchio’s desk.  
“Hey Benny,” Vecchio greeted him apologetically. “Look, I’m sorry but I can’t go out for lunch today. I am swamped with this investigation. I’ve got more leads that a professional dog handler! I don’t even know where to start!” He threw his hands up in dismay.  
“That’s not a problem Ray,” Fraser responded cheerfully. “Why don’t I help you go through your leads and we can narrow it down a little?”  
“You’re a lifesaver Benny!” Vecchio grinned pulling up a chair beside his own.  
They worked solidly for a couple of hours before Francesca turned up with lunch for them both.  
“You owe me for delivery Ray,” she reminded her brother acidly. “Just because I have the time does not make it free. I am not your errand boy… or girl.”  
“No,” Vecchio agreed, “You’re my little sister. Now, give me that, I’m starving! I hope you used the good prosciutto?”  
“I’ll pay for my share Francesca, but I only have Canadian currency I’m afraid,” Fraser offered pulling some notes from the inner band of his hat.  
“Oh no. That’s okay Fraser,” she waved him off, her manner completely transformed. “It’s really no trouble since I was on my way here anyhow.”  
“Thank you kindly.”  
“I’ll go toast it for you,” Francesca offered taking the sandwich and heading to the breakroom. Without flinching she expertly caught Vecchio’s sandwich left-handed as he pelted it at her.  
“Mine too Franny, since you’re on your way there anyhow,” he called and watched her make her way to the breakroom. “Anytime this month, Franny!” he yelled as he saw her stop to talk to a photography crew. After several minutes of animated conversation, he saw her look over and point toward Fraser.  
“There he is. He’s so handsome, isn’t he? He’ll be great in your calendar.”  
“Do you work here?” asked the creative director.  
“Me? Oh, no but my brother’s a detective here. He works a lot with Constable Fraser in fact. Solving crimes, homicide investigations, that kind of thing. I just bring in lunch sometimes you know, to help out.”  
“Perhaps you could help us out,” Ms Appleby mused. “You see I have an idea for the shoot but I’m not sure how to set it up.”  
“Wow, these are really good!” Francesca breathed as she looked through a folio the photographer’s assistant presented her. One photograph portrayed a rugged looking Mountie posing on a snow mobile, in full winter gear inexplicably open at the chest to expose his muscular torso, and another presented a more intimate portrait of a female Mountie lacing her boots as her horse nuzzled at the neckline of her unfastened uniform.  
“I’m thinking the caption for this shoot, the month of June, should be, ‘Things are heating up’ or something along those lines,” explained Ms Appleby. “I want the Mountie shown working alongside the Chicago cops so I need some uniforms or badges visible in the periphery, but the focus of course will be on Constable Benton Fraser—an outdoors boy from the frozen north feeling the heat in Chicago.”  
Francesca nodded her approval.  
“I’d really like to get his shirt off,” Ms Appleby continued, “but I don’t want it to seem unnatural.”  
Francesca’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Just leave it to me,” she promised confidently.

As the photography equipment was set up around Vecchio’s desk, a small crowd of his co-workers gathered, and Francesca took it upon herself to explain what was happening.  
“So, it’s like a porn calendar,” Detective Gardino concluded. “Are there Mountie chicks too or only guys?”  
“No, Louis,” Francesca chided in disgust, “It’s not pornography like your gross pin-up calendars! It’s art. And, yes there are women as well as men.”  
Fraser was mortified. He had assumed the calendar project would remain in the confines of the Canadian Consulate, separate from his involvement at the two-seven.  
“Is this for real?” Vecchio whispered incredulously, and he knew by Fraser’s faint grimace that it was. Ordinarily he found amusement in his friend’s discomfort with physical attention, but this was almost painful to watch. He knew Fraser well enough to know that he would find the prospect of a photo shoot almost unbearable, particularly in front of this gawking crowd of onlookers.  
“Perhaps,” Fraser suggested to the creative director, “We shouldn’t distract the detectives from their important work. Another location would be far preferable.” He placed his Stetson squarely on his head in expectation of leaving.  
“Nonsense, this is perfect!” she replied. “And don’t worry about the disruption. I’ve already had Inspector Thatcher clear it with the Lieutenant,” she assured. “Now you just relax and act naturally. Remember, this is all about showing who you really are behind the uniform.” She gave him her most admiring and encouraging, wide-eyed smile.  
The last thing Fraser was capable of at that moment was relaxing. The colour rose in his cheeks, his mouth felt dry and a single bead of sweat rolled down his temple.  
“Are you okay Frase? You look a little hot,” Francesca observed. “How about I fetch you some ice water? Coffee Ray?” she called.  
“Sure,” Vecchio agreed. It was clear they weren’t going to get any more work done until this was over with.  
When Francesca returned, Fraser was seated at Vecchio’s desk struggling to follow directions from Ms Appleby to hold his shoulders a certain way while looking serious but not too serious and angle his jaw just so. Francesca set a large tumbler of water with ice cubes on the desk before him, then reached across his chest to hand her brother a coffee cup. But as she did so she fumbled, spilling its contents down the front of Fraser’s red serge uniform.  
“Oh, shoot!” she exclaimed pulling a cloth from her bosom to mop up the hot liquid.  
Fraser stood abruptly in shock. “Oh dear,” was the only response he could manage. This was his spare uniform and he hadn’t another until his dry cleaning was collected. As he worried about how he would perform his sentry duty tomorrow morning without a uniform, he hardly noticed Francesca expertly remove the tunic and hang it over the back of the chair. Stripped down to his tank top and suspenders, at least he felt a little cooler. Before he could object to the situation, a small fan on Vecchio’s desk was suddenly switched on scattering their investigation notes. Fraser automatically retrieved and gathered them laying them back on the desk in an uneven stack. Then before he realised what was happening, two firm hands on his shoulders pressed him back down to a seated position and Diefenbaker leapt to the floor near his feet to retrieve a slice of prosciutto and lap at a puddle of water on the floor. At the very same moment a high-pitched beeping sound issued from the breakroom smoke detector, drawing Fraser’s attention. As he glanced upward, his expression was serious but not too serious and his jaw was angled just so. Instantaneously, the photography lights flashed, and the camera shutter clicked. Francesca whooped in victory.  
While the photographer and his assistant packed away their equipment, Vecchio helped Fraser slip back into his tunic. Fraser examined the damage and was bewildered to find the fabric only wet with no trace of coffee or milk. Vecchio smiled as Fraser slowly put two and two together. Francesca had set the whole thing up! She had gotten him out of his uniform, baited Diefenbaker into the picture at just the right time and produced a more natural result than he could have managed under deliberate direction. He was torn between feeling betrayed by the subterfuge and grateful for the assistance.  
“My sister’s a god-damned genius,” Vecchio declared appreciatively but then lamented, “If only her talents had some worthwhile purpose.”  
Before the photography crew left, the creative director turned to Fraser and shook his hand warmly. “Thank you for your time Constable, you were brilliant!” she congratulated. “And Ms Vecchio, your assistance was invaluable.”  
As they left the building Fraser sank back into his chair, closed his eyes and breathed a long sigh of relief.  
“You alright Benny?” Vecchio asked with concern, “Jesus Christ, I think I’ve seen you less rattled being shot at with a 9mm handgun rather than that camera lens!”  
This brought a small chuckle from Fraser and a weak grin.  
“You wanna get back to work?” Vecchio asked.  
“God yes,” came his reply.  
Francesca brought over their burned sandwiches, Vecchio’s minus the prosciutto, to eat while they worked, and Fraser thanked her kindly for her trouble.

Back at the Consulate, as part of Thatcher’s weekly briefing with her subordinates, Creative Director Shayne Appleby summarised the progress on the marketing division’s calendar project. While she did not yet have the final prints from Fraser and Turnbull’s shoots, she was more than happy with their success. She had only a couple more portraits to shoot back in Toronto although one volunteer had pulled out, so she had a vacant spot for January to fill, preferably with a woman for the sake of diversity.  
“Inspector Thatcher, you would make a wonderful Ms January!” blurted Turnbull.  
The look the Inspector returned him shot daggers, but he seemed oblivious to the impending danger. Fraser kicked him behind the desk as a warning.  
“Ow,” exclaimed Turnbull in surprise looking questioningly at Fraser.  
Thatcher’s gaze shifted to Fraser who paled a little but remained otherwise impassive.  
“That would be marvellous!” Ms Appleby agreed. “And after all the encouragement you gave your officers you can hardly refuse yourself!” she pointed out, immediately directing her photographer to unpack his camera. “The natural light in here is perfect!” she observed happily. “And though you’re not in uniform, the Canadian flag in the background and your badge give a formal touch.”  
Thatcher pursed her lips in anger still glaring over her glasses frames.  
“That’s good!” encouraged Ms Appleby, “Just a couple of adjustments…” She leaned artfully across the desk and tamed a few stray hairs around Thatchers face then to the Inspector’s dismay unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse. “Perfect.”  
The photographer captured the power of her icy stare as her subordinates stood before her. She was clearly a woman in charge.  
“I will of course need to approve the final prints,” Thatcher insisted coldly. She had not yet signed any agreement and was not about to throw away her hard-earned career for a racy picture in a calendar no matter how many new recruits might result.  
Ms Appleby and her photographer left then to pack for their flight to Toronto leaving Thatcher to continue with her briefing.  
“Well, back to business!” she declared rebuttoning her shirt. “A couple of last-minute changes,” she smiled serenely. “Turnbull, you will be assigned the early sentry shift as well as an extra shift on Sunday for the rest of the month.”  
Turnbull looked as though he’d been hit by a bus. He would miss his Persian cooking class and his flower arranging lessons, but he nodded bravely and held back his tears.  
“Fraser,” Thatcher continued licking her lips, “You will personally cover the extra costs detailed in your expenses inventory last week, unless you can wrangle it out of Lieutenant Welsh,” she added knowing full well the impossibility of such a thing. “I do not consider the rescue of citizens of the United States of America from potentially rabid racoons to be part of your official duties, on Canada day or any other day.” She smiled smugly. “Dismissed.”

The end


End file.
